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She intended to talk.
Given his self-control lay in the trash right beside that Pop-Tart, he figured the bedroom door and wide expanse of bed waiting a few steps away didn’t offer much hope for getting through their conversation with an inch of sanity left.
CHAPTERSIX
Standingbeside Daniel in the galley kitchen, Mary Elise forced her brow to smooth and edged aside her urge to offer advice. Danny should hone his own instincts in dealing with the boys. She could already gauge from the way he’d talked to Trey that his intuition was on target. Sure, she might approach things differently, but that didn’t make his way wrong.
And therein lay the core truth. He needed to set patterns in place thathecould maintain, not her way, since she would soon be gone.
She shouldn’t tell him what to say to Trey, but she couldn’t leave him alone with all that pain pulsing through the small kitchen. The echo of Franklin Baker’s voice from the voicemail had shaken her, even if she couldn’t hear the words. She could only imagine what Daniel must be feeling.
Given he’d dodged her comfort last night, she didn’t expect him to start sobbing on her shoulder by any means. Still she would be here for him. That much he would have to accept.
Danny folded his arms across his broad chest encased in a clean—albeit wrinkled—flight suit, obviously having finally accepted she wasn’t going anywhere. “What? No tips on how I should have handled that?”
She shook her head and padded across gray-speckled tile toward the coffeemaker. Colombian roast and freshly showered Danny scenting the air made an enticing morning blend. “Why would you think that?”
“First day on the parenting job and I already flunked Kids 101.” He braced a boot on the cabinet behind him and sagged back with a long exhale. “Do you think I should go after him?”
She forced herself to ask instead of advise. “What do you think?”
“Me? I want to get things settled. Now.” He swiped an orange juice can off the counter and crumpled it in his fist before flinging it into a recycling bin with a resounding rattle.
A confrontation when they were both angry and on edge? Ick. She unhooked a dangling black mug to keep from grabbing his arm to stop him. To keep from grabbing him period. “Do what you feel is best.”
“The kid’s probably in there crying. Alone. I hate that for him.” His boot jammed reflexively against the gleaming metal cabinet with a single thud. “But he would resent me more for seeing it.”
Bingo, Danny. “I would imagine so.”
“So I’ll try again later.”
“And later again if that’s what it takes.” She leaned against the counter beside him and sipped the steaming coffee. “He just needs time to assimilate everything.”
Daniel nodded.
Of its own will, her hand fell to rest on his upper arm. “I thought you did well in a situation that stinks no matter which way you look at it.”
Muscles flexed beneath her touch. Her fingers itched to explore the broadened width of his shoulders. Silence echoed but for the hiss of the coffeemaker and more yearning zipping back and forth. The chill of tile floor seeped into her bare feet while the heat of his arm seared her fingers.
She snatched her hand away. Don’t get involved. They needed to make their own way. And emotions hurt.
Daniel scooped an open Pop-Tart box off the counter. Five seconds later he was slathering peanut butter on top of the purple-and-white-swirled frosting. She stifled a wince.
He chewed through a bite before cutting a glance her way. “Aren’t you going to suggest eggs and wheat toast or shove me out of the way so you can whip up something healthy?”
“Daniel, you’re thirty-two years old. If you want to eat chocolate frosting on your bagel for breakfast, that’s your business.”
“So you’re not going to try to fix me or bake a casserole.”
Confusion cut through the need to lick the peanut butter from the corner of his mouth. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Never mind.” He jammed the rest of his breakfast in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “I should get moving. Thank you for staying. This morning is crazy enough without worrying about rounding up a baby-sitter.”
Guilt swirled through her passion like the mix of that peanut butter through the frosting. She was using him every bit as much as he was using her. Except she wasn’t being straight-up honest with him.
For the best, right? Then he wouldn’t get hurt trying to sort her mess. He opened a drawer, withdrawing a notepad and pen. “I appreciate that you let me reason through how to handle Trey.”
“Really?” She blinked away her surprise at his perception of her motives.
